For a time he would certainly come every day.

To be sure, she could not see him daily.

Her duties would be in the house; she would be a wife; people would call her 'Mrs.Grail.' A voice whispered, a very timid, one would have said a guilty, voice, 'Who will be called 'Mrs.Egremont' ?' Not once; the voice, faint as it was, had an echo, a tingling echo from her heart outwards to the smallest vein.

Who will bear that name?
Some tall, beautiful, richly-clad lady, such as Miss Newthorpe.

Was there any one who at this moment sat alone, longing for one look of his eyes?
Did ladies think and feel in that way?
or only foolish little work-girls, who all their lives had dreamed dreams of a world that was not theirs?
Did ladies ever press down a heart beating almost to anguish and say, half-aloud, to themselves: 'I love you!' No; a stately life theirs, no weakness, no sense of a measureless need, self-respect ever, and ever respect from all about them.